the
morning is fruitful, melancholic, the seas rushing into islands.
opened
too early, what is youth like—are minds rested?
many
sticks and stones, many forbidden reasons, many don’t follow the formula—
with
venom, as acidic, to hate self—a grinning woman, proud to be—in a given
exhilaration.
so
much cursing, so long at it, nails done, hat tilted, toes with language—as
multiplied, like most are unfit, like most are unsteady.
I
saw Love, sick in feelings, Love, buried inside, Love.
playing
fidgets, unrelaxed, at present, feeling some type of way.
one
learns to watch, remain cordial, most forget their reflection. we don’t give
unbaked instructions. we don’t ask a child to be grown. we don’t ask for undue
fidelity. many ears perk up, many emotions wrangle us, while most ask for
something impossible.
so
revved inside, like flying inside, contemplating a person dripping into
integrity. to supply what’s needed, getting raw and weeded, laughing at the
good times.
her
hair is done, her dress is fitted, her Versace glasses just fell—
upon
a leather couch sits a Prada bag, we try for peace, Love is expensive—for a man
earning a given amount,
saved
all month, save for eating and gas. many favors, feline perfection, precious
fireworks.
